


lovesong.mp3

by ttamarrindo



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Music Producer Major! Brian, Smitten Brian, also, wonpil is the real mvp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 21:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12849990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ttamarrindo/pseuds/ttamarrindo
Summary: and that’s the core problem, isn’t it? the songs change in rhythm and pace but eventually, when you take a closer look and really listen to the lyrics, the feeling turns out identical.breakup songs. different words. same meaning.fucking disappointing.(or, brian desperately needs someone to sing for him. too bad jae doesn't like sad songs.)





	lovesong.mp3

**Author's Note:**

> aaaahh this is not even the fic i'm supposed to be writing rn but let's get it:
> 
> 1\. not beta read so sorry for any/all mistakes  
> 2\. lapslock bc i started writing on my phone again  
> 3\. what is consistent writing style idk her  
> 4\. thanks for reading. it means a whole lot

“seriously, hyung. again?” 

brian blinks awake. there’s a blur of pink hovering a few inches in front of him he thinks may be wonpil’s face. by the disappointed frown and exasperated sigh that follow seconds after brian guesses he’s just about right. 

“time is it?” he mumbles back. his cheek is pressed against something plastic and uncomfortable, eyes sand-dry and itching like a motherfucker. brian looks up, takes a wary look around. he’s in his studio, which is pretty normal given the situation. but wonpil is also here, hands on his hips and a worried look on his face which is - pretty normal too, actually, now that brian thinks about it.

“you promised me you wouldn't do this again,” wonpil sighs, nose wrinkling as he bends down to pick up the burger wrappers scattered across the studio floor. he tosses them in the trashcan, sighs again when he finds it filled to the brim with cheap noodle-cups brian buys in stock from the corner store down the street. “this has got to stop.”

“it’s called a creative process,” brian gets out, trying to speak through the cotton in his mouth. he’s not in the mood for another lecture, not when he’s running on three hours of sleep - less, maybe - and not nearly enough caffeine to think properly, never mind defend himself. 

“it’s health detrimental bullshit, that’s what it is,” wonpil mutters. brian pretends he didn’t hear him. he knows wonpil has a point, he’s not _stupid_ , but he’s also not about to admit to his problems any time soon. 

brian’s been trying to break bad habits as of lately; eating something else than corner-store noodles for once, going home to sleep instead of crashing on the studio’s old leather couch, showering more. that sort of thing.

he promised wonpil he would try and he’s _been_ trying, honest, but brian has found that he works best when following routine and, if routine means locking himself up in his studio until a track is finished without a care for food of sleep, well, whatever works right?

and yeah okay, brian can agree that the amount of empty coffee cups sitting by his desk is somewhat worrying, but it’s not like he can help it. he’s about to graduate, only one last project away from receiving his diploma. changing routine now, when it’s gotten him through five years of uni, would be just plain stupid. which brian is not, no matter how many times wonpil insists otherwise.

point being: breaking bad habits is going about as well it brian expected it to. that is to say, not that well at all. 

“what time is it?” he asks again, sitting up in his chair and bunching his shoulders to try and get rid of the crinks in his neck. that’s what he gets for falling asleep on his desk. 

“almost nine,” wonpil answers, which _fuck_ , means trouble. 

“shit,” brian curses, chair rattling back as he stand up hurriedly. “i gotta deliver my advance on the album at nine.” he rakes a hand through his hair, finds it greasy, matted into gross clumps that stick to his forehead. he looks down at his clothes, pats himself down. his shirt is stained with noodle broth. _fuck._

“i know,” wonpil rolls his eyes. “why do you think i’m here? i synced your google calendar with mine for a reason, hyung. ” 

brian blinks at the younger. “that’s an invasion of privacy. i have fucking rights.”

“no, you don’t. not when you pull this kind of shit,” wonpil waves an arm around the studio. “now get a move on, hyung.” he tosses a bundle of clothes in brian’s general direction, catching him right across his face. “you don’t have time to shower so just change and try to freshen up. you’ve got ramyeon in you hair.”

brian nods, is halfway to the bathroom when he realizes. “wait, i gotta burn the album to a cd-”

“i got it,” wonpil waves him off, already clicking away at brian’s computer. “just go change.”

“thanks,” brian mutters before wonpil throws a balled-up piece of paper at his head and shouts at him to _stop wasting time, christ, hyung!_ and disappears into the bathroom. hopes wonpil knows how much he really means it. 

+

“this is good, younghyun. really good. you’ve made great progress.”

brian watches professor shin click through the tracks, eyes fixed on the computer screen. he shuffles on his feet, can’t help the swell of pride that rises in him when the woman turns to look at him with a small, pleased smile.

“i’m glad,” brian says and he _is_. immensely relieved too. he’s slaved over this project for months, obsessed over every beat, every silence, every word. he had been worried about what his teacher would think of it, not only because this album weighs more than half his grade - though that plays a part as well, of course, brian wants to graduate - but he also wants to finish uni with something he can be proud of, something that’ll help him get his name out into the music production industry. 

“it’s good,” professor shin says, mutes the volume so that her voice rings clear and loud when she says, “good. but incomplete.” 

“incomplete,” brian repeats mechanically. “i - i don’t understand? the assignment was to make an eight-track album and i _did_. i’ve got eight songs, just like you asked. they’re ready. the album’s done.” 

“yes, the album is done,” professor shin agrees easily. “but it’s not _complete_. you’ve got a solid album, younghyun and i can see that you’ve worked very hard on it. i would accept it like this if you were any other student but i think you can do better than this.” 

“better,” brian chews on the word, tries not to let it sound as bitter as he himself feels. “better,” he repeats, not quite believing it. he’s put everything he’s learned into this album, sang the songs himself because he felt only he could do them justice. he thought it was good, thought it was _better_ already. whatever that’s supposed to mean.

“yes. better, younghyun,” the woman answers, kind and smiling still. “this album is very you. every song fits your style, centers around the same theme. i just think it would benefit you if you tried for something different.”

“so you want me to what? change one of the songs?” brian can do that. he has a week until he has to deliver the finalized version of the album and although it’s certainly not ideal brian can work something out. modify the beat, tweak the lyrics. he can do that. 

“well - no. i want you to add a new song to the album.” 

“you want me to write a new song?” brian asks for confirmation, bristles when the woman nods. “a whole new song. in a _week_. even though the assignment clearly stated only eight songs were required.”

“i’m not forcing you to do anything, younghyun,” professor shin sighs, takes off her glasses so she can look brian directly in the eye. “you can hand in the album as it is and it will be good, you’ll graduate top of your class even. but-”

“but it won’t be enough,” brian sighs, thinks he gets it, somewhat.

“you’re good, younghyun,” she answers. “you have a future in the production industry, of that i’m sure, but so do many others. once you step out into the real world there won’t be time to experiment, not at first. that’s why i think you should try and produce something other that what you’re used to, see if you have the potential now that you have the chance.” 

brian sighs, clenches his teeth. he already knows what he’s going to do. “okay then,” he swallows, “i’ll have a new song ready by next week.”

“excellent!” professor shin claps once, lips curling up into a pleased smile. “i can’t wait to see what you’ll come up with.” 

_if_ i come up with something, brian thinks bitterly, doesn’t say it aloud because he’s never been one to back down from a challenge, at least not when it comes to music. 

one week, he thinks as he bids goodbye to his professor and steps out into the quad, one song. 

something new. 

+

“i don’t know what to do,” brian grunts. “it all sounds the fucking same.” 

wonpil sighs. he’s got a pencil stuck between his teeth, another one behind his ear. they’re back at the studio, a lazy monday night. brian is sprawled defeatedly across the couch, kicking the heels of his feet against the side. _thump_ , pause. _thump_ , pause.

“it’ll come to you eventually, hyung. it always does,” wonpil answers, bending over so he can scribble notes on the book the he’s got open across his lap. “you still got time.”

“six days,” brian mutters and brings his hands up, stares at the blue-ink stains that have brought nothing more than frustration. “i have six days, wonpil-ah.”

“you know,” wonpil cuts in sharply, caping his highlighter so he can turn to stare at brian with raised eyebrows, judging. “you would make more progress if you actually _tried_ writing music instead of just laying there and waiting for inspiration to strike.”

“it’s not about inspiration,” brian huffs. “it’s just...”

just _what?_ the awful thought that maybe he bit off more than he could chew? that maybe breakup songs is all he’s capable of writing? 

the thought of it aches like a bad wound. _a solid album_ professor shin had called it and brian certainly doesn't disagree with her. he’s not one to praise himself often but he’s proud of what he’s created. his album - brian doesn’t have a name for it yet, knows he has to come up with one soon - is strong, shifts between hard, fast-paced songs and more gentler, slower ones. there’s a balance, a vein that runs through every song and binds them together. 

but that’s the core problem, isn’t it? the songs change in rhythm and pace but eventually, when you take a closer look and really listen to the lyrics, the feeling turns out identical. 

breakup songs. different words. same meaning.

fucking disappointing. 

“stop _brooding_.” something smacks the side of brian’s head. he turns, sees the rolled up lecture papers wonpil’s brandishing his way and scowls at him.

“that’s abuse.”

“it’s positive reinforcement,” wonpil shoots back, grins at him all sugar-sweet. brian scowls harder.

“how is hitting me in the head positive reinforcement?”

“didn’t say it was positive for _you _, hyung,” wonpil clicks his tongue. “it’s good for my stress levels. cathartic even.”__

“brat,” brian huffs in reluctant amusement, lets his head fall to rest on the couch and keeps on thumping his feet against it. _thump_ , pause. _thump_ , pause. “i fear the day you graduate and actually become a teacher. i can already hear the children screaming.”

“children love me,” wonpil states plainly. “that’s why i get along so well with you.”

“oh, come on,” brian scoffs. “i’m not a child.”

“could’ve fooled me. you’re certainly acting like one.” wonpil levels him with a look, the sort that you see on the principal’s face when you get send to his office. wonpil will make a great teacher one day, brian’s certain. “now let’s get you home, hyung. it’s late and you’re obviously getting nowhere.”

“fine,” brian sighs because wonpil’s right. it’s sometime past 3 am and brian has been sitting in front of his computer for eight hours, clicking through beats and pressing nonsense chords into his keyboard in an effort to come up with something new, something _other_ , until he gave up. he’s getting nowhere and he knows it. 

still, the thought sits wrong on his chest, twists sickeningly in his stomach. it feels an awful lot like admitting defeat. 

brian needs a break. 

“let’s go,” he says, helps wonpil pack his stuff up. “hyung will buy you dinner.”

“it’s too late for dinner,” wonpil sighs. 

“hyung will buy you a very early breakfast then.”

“you’re impossible,” wonpil scoffs, agrees anyways. 

+

brian has a beat done by wednesday afternoon. 

it’s not perfect, not what he’s used to writing melodies over and shaping words by but maybe that’s for the best. professor shin said to experiment so that’s what brian’s going to do. 

if the beat for his new song sounds suspiciously like the pattern he had been thumping against the side of the couch well, whatever works right?

whatever works. 

+

thing is, brian has a bigger problem now. 

“fuck,” he curses, ripping his earphones away and gritting his teeth in raw frustration. it’s not working. his voice doesn’t fit the song, the beat. it’s too strong, doesn’t fit, doesn’t _work_. “fuck,” he curses again, takes a deep breath and presses replay.

the sound of his own singing filters in through the speakers. the song is slow, slower than any other on the album, somewhat hesitant, too, like it doesn’t know where it’s supposed to go, where the next note falls. 

brian’s voice swims over it, too fast-paced to be really in-rhythm, brian knows, but no matter how many times he re-records it it comes out the same. 

the lyrics are all wrong too, barely there thoughts about something brian doesn’t understand, something he knows of but doesn’t quite get.

he had just taken whatever phrases he found in his notebooks and tried to piece something together out of scattered parts. the first verse is okay, some lines about meeting someone new and connecting. the chorus screams too loudly about love at first, though, rings cliche and overdone but it’s _something_ and, with the deadline looming close closer closer, brian will take what he can get. 

but he knows it’s not working. the song feels wrong, fake. sounds like it’s drifting and going nowhere.

brian shuts his eyes. presses replay. 

tries again. 

+

“i think,” wonpil starts, “you’re going about this the wrong way.”

“you think?” brian scoffs. there’s not bite to it though, no resentment, just the leaden weight of tiredness.

“you’re trying to write a love song, right?” wonpil asks, biting into his _samgyeopsal_ without much care for table manners. he just got out of a psych test and he’s starving - at least that's what he said when he called brian over and demanded he buy him food. brian thinks it has more to do with getting brian out of the studio so he doesn’t forget to feed himself. 

“i guess,” brian shrugs. a love song, is that really what he’s trying to write? might as well, he thinks, it’s definitely something new. brian doesn’t think he has ever written a love song before. maybe that’s why he sucks so bad at it. “i don’t know.”

“see, that’s the problem,” wonpil says, points at him with his chopsticks critically. “you don’t even know what you’re singing about, how can you expect it to sound good?”

brian takes a bite out of his own serving, chews on it like he does on wonpil’s words. “let’s say you’re right, that still doesn’t help me fix the problem. i got something,” brian say, ignores the flat look wonpil sends his way. “problem is i can’t sing it.”

“get someone to sing it for you then.”

and _oh._ that’s a thought.

it wouldn’t be a problem. brian had stubbornly insisted on singing all the songs on his album himself, felt like it was more personal that way, but he knows that a lot of his classmates asked for help when it came to the vocal parts. many went over to the performance majors and recorded samples for their tracks. 

it’s not ideal. but it’s a thought. 

certainly something new. 

+

“sorry, but final performances are right around the corner. i can’t afford to take on another project right now.”

“it’s fine,” brian answers, fights down the urge to scream. “it’s no problem. thanks anyways.”

the girl - a vocal performance freshmen brian doesn’t even know the name of, not his first choice, not by a long shot, but brian’s rapidly reaching the reckless levels of desperation - nods at him, smile apologetically as she bows once and then scampers off into the building.

[4:37] to **wonpilie**  
cant find anyone to sing for me  
any ideas?

brian pockets his phone, knows he won’t get an answer until wonpil is done with his afternoon class. he sighs, takes the long way back to his studio where he sits at his desks and tampers down the urge to his his head against it. 

_thursday 14_ it reads in bold, red letters on his computer screen. thursday, which means brian has three days left to finish this stupid love song and prove that he can write more than sad melodies and even sadder lyrics. 

he presses play. lets the _thump_ , pause. _thump_ , pause of his unfinished song lull him to sleep. hopes that when he wakes up he’ll have more than empty words echoing around in his head.

+

[22:37] from **wonpilie**  
hyung i’ve got him 

[22:38] from **wonpilie**  
i found your singer 

+

it's a video. shaky, taken hastily and quietly. brian woke up to it around eleven, blinking blearily around for his phone that had been bursting with notifications; all from wonpil, all overflowing with too-cheery emojis and glaring exclamation marks.

it’s a video. in it: a boy and a guitar. in it: an answer. 

brian watches open-mouthed as the camera comes into focus. wonpil’s recording, brian knows because he caught a glimpse of the younger's tattoo when it flashed across the screen as wonpil fumbled with the phone.

the boy he’s filming is singing, caught in the middle of the first verse of a familiar song brian can’t name but recognizes by the rise and fall of its cadence. he’s strumming along on his guitar, fingers sure and certain in a way that speaks of familiarity and endless practice. 

what really catches brian’s attention is his voice. it sounds like honey, drips like it too. caught in between sweet and airy. like syrup. 

it _fits_. 

“...seemed so far away. hey, what are you - are you _recording_ me?”

brian watches as the boy on the video scrambles up. the song stops abruptly when he catches sight of the phone wonpil has aimed at him, forehead scrunching up into a frown. 

“ah hyung, no,” wonpil stutters out, obviously caught. “i was just-”

“don’t lie,” the boy rolls his eyes. “and give me that.” he comes closer then, stepping forward, and brian catches the glint of golden-rimmed glasses and the fall of blond hair before the phone changes hands and the video ends. screen turning black.

+

[01:53] to **wonpilie**  
who is he

[02:05] from **wonpilie**  
he’s a friend  
graduated last year  
works at a dj station now  
want his number?

[02:06] to **wonpilie**  
yeah  
his name?

[02:08] from **wonpilie**  
jaehyung

[02:09] from **wonpilie**  
he’ll sing for you

+

park jaehyung - graduated 2016 with a major in vocal performance and a minor in polisci because he likes to argue.

that’s what twitter says, at least. 

he works as a dj for a radio show called music acces. it airs on mondays and wednesdays but there are podcast of the recordings and brian listens to those on repeat as he writes. 

music flows easy. he pulls up the track for the new song, erases everything but the beat. he writes a new melody, builds it up in and around jaehyung’s voice. brian listens as jaehyung rains praise on nell’s new album and talks shit about the double standards of the kpop industry, writes chords that sound like maybes and what-ifs as he listens to him talk. imagines how his music will sound on jaehyung’s tongue, how his lips will curl around syllables and smooth over the _thump_ , pause. _thump_ , pause. 

thinks, it’ll fit.

fit just right. 

+

“so. you’re the songwriter.”

“that’s me.” brian watches as jaehyung takes a seat. he’s tall, taller than brian, and easily towers over the other customers shuffling around in the café they agreed to meet at. he’s wearing an old hoodie over a pair of sweatpants and brian feels kind of overdressed in his leather jacket and nicest pair of jeans.

sue him. he needs to make a good impression. needs jaehyung to sing for him. 

“wonpil told me you were stuck with a song,” he says, grins at brian over the rim of his coffee mug - some overly-priced, too-long order the barista got wide-eyed over when he rattled it all to her. brian sips at his plain americano and forces himself to relax.

“was,” he corrects. “ _was_ stuck. i have the song now, just need someone to sing it.”

“that’s where i come in?”

“that’s where you come in,” brian nods. “could you maybe come by my studio on friday? i know it’s on really short notice but the deadline is on sunday. of course i’ll pay you for your work-”

“wow, man, slow down,” jaehyung laughs, eyes crinkling up and oh, brian thinks. oh no. “let me hear the song first, yeah? i need to know if i can sing it.”

“you can,” brian answers because he built the whole song around the thought of jaehyung singing it, made sure it would fit him just as he made sure he would fit the song himself. then he realizes that’s probably not the best answer to give. “i mean, yeah, of course. i, uh, have it on my phone if you want to listen to it. the piano part is the one you’d sing.”

“‘kay, give it here then,” jaehyung says, makes grabby hands at him and snorts when brian hastily reaches for his phone. 

their fingers brush when brian hands the phone over and that same feeling from before rises up unbidden. but then jaehyung is plugging his earphones in and pressing play before brian can give much thought to it. 

brian watches jaehyung listen, tries to get a feel for his thoughts, if he likes it or not - if he’ll _sing_ it or not - but the older’s face remains impassive as the song filters on. it’s only when the last notes drift off that jaehyung sets the phone down and meets his eyes.

“it’s good,” he says. “you got lyrics i can sing though?”

“i do,” brian breathes out, slumps down on his seat. he’ll sing. jaehyung will sing for him. brian feels like he can think straight again. “lyrics, yeah.”

“great,” jaehyung hums, smiles wider. “friday then?”

“please.” he nods. “as early as you can.”

“how about nine?” jaehyung asks. “that work for you?”

“sure,” brian agrees. that’ll give him enough time to go over the lyrics one more time. they’re _there_ , brian hadn’t lied when he said he found words for the song, but brian feels like he can do better. now that he knows the voice he envisioned for his song is on board, he feels like he _has_ to do better. “if you give me your number i’ll text you the address.”

jaehyung stops the waiter that had been passing by and asks her for a pen. he uncaps it with his teeth and then reaches over the table. “here,” he says through clenched teeth, his voice coming muffled to keep the cap from falling. he takes brian’s hand in his, turns it so that his palm is facing up and bends down to scribble something on his wrist. “my number.”  
brian stares at him, caught off guard. “see you tomorrow,” jaehyung says simply. he waves goodbye, smiles at brian’s dumbfounded expression one last time and then leaves. just like that. 

“see you,” brian calls out to empty air. when he’s sure jaehyung is out of sight, he twists his arm around, watches the blank ink on his inner wrist and thumbs at it until it blurs at the edges. 

he saves the number into his contacts under the name _jaehyung, the singer_. 

the song.

+

“you told me you had lyrics.”

“i do,” brian grunts back. jae - because he insisted jaehyung was too formal and brian was not about to disagree with him - quirks an eyebrow up at him. 

“these look like the dialogue of a rom-com, man,” he laughs. “c’mon. where are the real lyrics?”

“those _are_ the real lyrics.” brian rakes a hand through his hair, forces himself not to pull on it. jae’s been in his studio for half-an-hour and brian’s been frustrated for twenty of them. “just sing them please. i need to layer your voice over the track.”

“i can’t sing this,” jae says, wrinkles his nose and kicks up his feet. “these are _awful_.”

“you said you would sing for me,” brian scowls, turns around in his chair to stare at jae, who merely stares back. 

“that was before i found out that your concept of love was based on cheesy hollywood films and shitty k-dramas.”

“what do you want me to do then?” brian demands. “change the lyrics. write _new_ ones?”

“well, yeah.”

“‘fuck’s sake,” brian mutters under his breath, figures that jae still managed to hear him by the snort of laughter that follows. he sighs, tries again. “i have to have this finished by sunday morning, which means recording the vocals, mixing the sound, coming up with a title for the album - just, please, sing the damn song as it is.”

of course, jae ignores him. “i think,” he starts, “that you need a break.”

“jesus, didn’t you hear what i just _said_ -”

“i _did_. relax, man. that’s exactly why i think you need to chill.” jae stands up, shuffles forward until he’s standing next to brian and tugs at his sleeve. “c’mon, we’re going out. you can’t write a love song if you stay cooped up in your studio.”

“what do _you_ know about love songs,” brian bites back but he stands up anyways. he’s known jae for a less than a day and already he knows the older won’t back down. better to go along with whatever he wants and hope he’ll sing after he’s done dragging brian around town.

“more than you, that’s for sure,” jae laughs. he slips on his jacket and puts on his sneakers, motions for brian to hurry and do the same. “now c’mon. and bring your wallet!”

“why?” brian asks, thinks that maybe he’s better of not knowing. 

“you’ll see,” jae grins. and then he’s out of the door. 

+

the train rattles as it crawls forward. jae has his feet crossed at the ankles, sticking right out into the center of the wagon without a care. he’s kicking his worn shoes together in a familiar beat. _thump_ , pause. _thump_ , pause. 

brian watches the dirty underground tunnel whizz by through the cracked window pane. he doesn’t know where they are going, thinks maybe jae doesn’t either. the older just told brian to pick a color, forced him to pay for their tickets, and jumped on the first train that came whizzing into the platform. 

brian reaches for his phone and plugs in his earphone. he clicks on the new song, intent on revising it now that he has time to spare because no matter how many breaks jae says he needs the deadline is still close and drawing closer. 

a hands falls on his wrist before he can press play. “don’t,” jae says, grip firm and settled. “we’re almost there.”

brian turns to look at him just as the train rushes out into open air. the sun filters in like puzzle pieces, cracks through the window and breaks across the rim of jae’s glasses. 

brian sets the phone down, lets his legs splay out. kicks his feet in time. 

_thump_ , pause. _thump_ , pause. 

+

“nice, isn’t it?”

brian nods. the music old shop is tucked between a laundromat and a chinese restaurant. it’s small, hidden almost. made of brick work and wood, looks cozy and inviting. it’s nice. 

“hey, dowoon-ah!” jae calls out when they step inside. he seems awfully familiar with the place, tells brian exactly so after they’re greeted by a dark-haired boy who grins at jae warmly and smiles shyly back at brian. 

“i come here all the time to look for tracks,” jae says as he leads brian further back into the shop where the wooden floor turns into a wooly carpet and the walls fill with shelves stocked to the brim with vinyls covered in dust. “found it by chance one day. haven’t stopped coming by since.”

“look,” he says, hands brian a vinyl. “this one is one of my favorites. not really because of the music - i’m not that into jazz, honestly - but this person clearly was.”

brian looks. the paper casing is covered in a pentagram that runs down all the way to the bottom of the album. there are notes drawn over it in red pen. brian drags his thumb over them, thinks he can hear the chords fall into place as he does. 

“it’s a song,” he realizes. “someone wrote a whole song on this album and just-”

“left it here, yeah.” jae shrugs, takes the album back from brian and slips it in place again. tucks the song away. 

“why?” brian asks.

“why not?” jae grins and well. 

why not. 

+

“once,” jae laughs. “once we got this call, right? we were doing a thing where you call in and request a song and dedicate it to someone and we get this woman and she says - says she’s trying to find this guy she met at a bar - they clicked, she forgot to ask for his number but they _clicked_ , she swears - so we play the song they danced to that night. hopes he hears it and calls in.”

“and?” brian prods when jae grows quite. he’s sitting with his back against the shelve, shuffling through a handful of albums. his entire attention on jae, though, who grins when he sees him looking. he shrugs, says,

“nothing. were you expecting the guy to call?”

“i-” brian falters, frowns at him. “he didn’t?”

“of course not,” jae rolls his eyes. “what are the chances of some random dude listening in to our station just when the woman calls? nothing happened. the woman thanked us, ended the call. we played another song.”

“that’s it?” 

“that’s it.”

+

jae gets hungry half-way through the day and whines about it relentlessly until brian agrees to buy him something. they bid dowoon goodbye and head over to the chinese restaurant to share a bowl of cold noodles.

the food is awful but the company isn’t so brian thinks it all evens out, in the end. jae steals the last mouthful right out of brian’s chopsticks and laughs openly when brian stares at him incredulously. his laughter rings like water, feels like pressing down on the missing key of a finished chord. brian thinks he could make a whole album out of the sound. thinks maybe he should. 

“what does yours say?” jae asks. he has cookie crumbles dusting his bottom lip and brian clenches his hands into fists so doesn’t reach out to brush them away. 

“guess,” brian answers, grins proudly when jae pouts back at him. 

“c’mon, i told you my fortune,” he presses, waves the tiny slip of paper he almost ate whole when he bit into his fortune cookie. “tell me yours.”

“guess.”

“fine, you asshole.” jae stares at him intently. his forehead scrunches in thought for a moment before it smoothes out and he says, “ah! i got it. you will get hit by a car in-” he checks his phone “-twenty minutes and you will _die_ because no one will help you because you’re an _asshole_.”

“oddly specific for a fortune cookie,” brian laughs.

“you think so?” jae huffs. “i think it sounds pretty accurate. anyways, we should go. it’s getting late.”

brian nods, drops a few bills on the table, enough to cover for the both of them, and slips on his jacket.

he leaves his fortune on the table too. it didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.

+

_sometimes what you’re looking for is right in front of you_

+

jae falls asleep on the way back. he yawns a couple of times, snuggles further into his hoodie. he’s tired, brian call tell by the way his eyes flutter close then open then close like he can’t help it.

just when brian's about to say something about it jae lets his head fall against the window and dozes off. closes his eyes and drifts. 

brian keeps watch over him, takes the opportunity to slip on his earphone and play his track. there are words sitting right on the back of his throat, sentences written under his fingertips, his skin, just waiting to be spread out on paper. for now, though, brian feels content to just let them be. 

jae’s head lolls to the side when the train hits a bump, comes to rest on brian’s shoulder. brian slips an arm around his shoulders and holds him close. thinks he hears his heartbeat go  
_thump_ , pause. _thump_ , pause. 

+

at the station, they bid each other goodnight. 

“see you tomorrow?” jae asks before he goes. means: _better now?_

“see you tomorrow,” brian agrees, watches jae walk away until the older turns a corner and disappears from view. 

then brian goes home, and writes. 

means: _i think i get it now_

+

come saturday morning brian has the letters of his keyboard creased into his cheek because he fell asleep at his desk again, a very bad case of morning breath, and a sheet full of finished lyrics. 

he hands them to jae when the older comes knocking, two mugs of coffee in hand and a grin much too bright for the early hours of the morning. 

“so?” he asks when jae’s finished reading them over. there’s something tight clogging up his throat. it makes it hard to breath properly because if this doesn’t work then brian might as well just give up. 

“mmh,” jae hums. brian swallows. his lungs burn. “mmh,” he says again.

“will you sing it or not?” brian presses. his nails are digging into his jeans, leaving scratches and red marks. “will you?”

“i’ll sing,” jae smiles. “this one, i’ll sing.”

brian breathes out. breathes in. 

okay. so that’s how it goes. 

+

they record the song all through saturday. jae runs it over by himself a couple of times, gets familiar with the wording and the rhythm, works on the pronunciation. then he slips on the headphones and steps inside the recording booth.

when brian gives him the go ahead he closes his eyes and jae - let’s go. the song is slow but jae sings like he’s running. his voice rises and falls in timed counterpoint to the melody and he chases the song like people chase after all their maybes. maybe this time, maybe this one, maybe this love.

when the song ends brian catches jae’s eyes, smiles bright and unburdened, says, “again.”

and again, jae sings. brian can only give chase. 

+

brian hands in the finalized version of his album a few minutes before the deadline. professor shin smiles at him amusedly when brian all but slams the door to her office open in an effort to arrive on time. 

after jae left, brian had spent the rest of the night editing and mixing, layering and editing, making sure everything was in place and on time, ready to be delivered. he managed - barely, but he managed. 

because of it, he woke up late to a frantic call from wonpil, who had been calling for about half-an-hour at that point, trying to wake him. brian had rushed to burn to songs into a new cd, emailed the digital version to his professor, and then dashed across campus like a madman to her office. 

“younghyun,” the woman greets him. “right on time.”

brian huffs, tries to catch his breath. “sorry,” he rushes out. “i got it. here it is.” he hands the cd over, tries to keep himself from shaking when it changes hands. 

professor shin looks it over, raises an eyebrow. “are you sure you got the right cd?” she asks. “this one here says _first draft_.”

“yeah,” brian nods. “it’s - it’s the right one,” he says. “that’s uh, the name of the album.”

“ _first draft_?” she asks curiously but leaves it at that. “well, i really can’t wait to see what you’ve added. i hope it wasn’t too hard a task?”

“i-,” brian starts, can’t help but think of jae when he inevitably says, “no. no it wasn't. not in the end.” 

“good,” professor shin smiles. “the grades will be posted a week from now. good luck, younghyun.”

“thank you,” brian bows, shuts the door quietly one his way out. _first draft_ he thinks. let it be the first of many.

+

[11:24] from **wonpilie**  
SO  
HOW DID IT GO???  
WHAT’S THE GRADE

[12:08] to **wonpilie**  
!!!!!!!

[12:09] from **wonpilie**  
WHAT DOES THAT MEAN  
HYUNG

[12:10] from **wonpilie**  
HYUNG COME ONE

[12:11] to **wonpilie**  
[image attached]

[12:12] from **wonpilie**  
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

+

“hundred percent, huh?” jae grins, smiles bright and brighter still as he looks at the big red 100 stamped right over brian’s name. “you’re welcome.”

“oh, fuck off,” brian laughs, pushes at jae’s shoulder good-naturedly. “i did all the work. you just sang one song.”

“excuse me,” jae gasps. “i sang _the_ song. what were your professor’s words again?” he asks, ruffles around until he finds the paper were professor shin had written down her review. “a true accomplishment,” he begins reading smugly. “the lyrics of the last track are heartfelt and reflect the complex simplicity of a kind of love often not talked about nowadays. musical proof that love doesn't have to be larger than life but that it comes in small moments and always when you least expect it to. truly a great piece.”

“sounds about right,” brian laughs, leans over to still a beef-roll from jae’s plate and chews viciously on it when jae scowls at him for it. 

“bit pretentious though,” jae comments. “ _complex simplicity_. what does that even _mean_.” 

“hell if i know,” brian shrugs, which makes jae snort so hard he accidentally chokes on the mouthful of coke he had been about to swallow and sends it spluttering across the studio. 

“charming, hyung.”

“shut up. you love me anyways.” 

“don’t know about that,” brian hums, kicks at jae’s arms until the older gives up and lets brian settles his legs on his lap.

“asshole,” jae huffs at him but the smile curling up his lips makes his words go softer. fonder. 

brian closes his eyes, drops his head against the couch’s armrest and lets the sound of jae munching on chinese take-out wash over him. eventually, he asks, “hey, hyung.”

“what?” jae grumbles. brian hears him set his chopsticks down, feels the couch dip as jae turns to face him. 

brian grins. “sing me a song?” 

“do i look like a goddamn radio to you?” jae snaps but there’s no real bite to it. brian can feel jae trying not to smile, can picture the fond, disbelieving smiles that is surely curling his lips up up up. 

“come on,” brian laughs, kicks at jae again. the older sighs. “come one,” brian says. “sing for me.” 

“fine,” jae relents. “fine. what do you want me to sing?”

“anything you want,” brian answers because there’s only one choice, really. “any song you want.” 

+

_track 9: beating _starts with the sound of feet kicking against the side of a couch. it goes something like _thump_ , pause. _thump_ , pause but not quite because brian cracked a joke while they were recording and jae’s laugh rang like water through the speakers and echoed across the room like the footnote of an afterthought. __

__after, when brian was going through the recordings, he found that version to fit the song just right and left the last beats of jae’s laughter in the track so that the song starts not quite as it began but something else._ _

__something better._ _

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell i wrote this in one morning? 
> 
> a big thank you if you made it this far. comments and kudos are so, so precious so please leave some? maybe? 
> 
> as always feel free to hmu on [tumblr](https://jahehyung.tumblr.com/) or [cc](https://curiouscat.me/ttamarrindo) anytime!


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